“Why, he makes me feel that God is not so terrible and austere after all; that He is not so anxious to thrust folk into hell as to keep them out of it; that He is kind and piteous and loving, and understands that we cannot all do great works of holiness like the saints. The other day he even made me believe--if I _really_ heard aright--that it was proper, nay best, to pray direct to the Lord Jesus Christ, and not to any intercessor or saint.” “Dr. Martin is an upright and eloquent man. I am glad he has brought you such comfort. But what do you gather as to saints’ relics and good works?” “Do you know, Walter,” she made answer, “I do not think he says out all he believes. Yet I seem to gather that saints’ relics are not bad, provided they are genuine, and are venerated only to recall the Christian virtues of the holy martyrs; as for good works, they must be performed as signs that the love of Christ is in our hearts, but not out of a selfish hope to buy our way to heaven.” “And you forgive him, then, for destroying your confidence in Master Tetzel.” Her usually mild eyes sparkled angrily. “Master Tetzel is a sinful and deceiving man. Do not name him before me.” Clearly, then, Dr. Luther had robbed the good Dominican of at least one noble customer, and I soon had reason to believe he had spoiled the trade of others. For after the first weeks of wavering I began to gather indubitable signs that if the bold Augustinian had awakened enemies he had also won countless friends. “He has said what we desired to say and dared not,”--such was the burden of innumerable letters, and they came in ever increasing volume from every quarter of Germany; from ermined doctors, girded noblemen, elegant burghers, and from hundreds of poor but honest souls, until I began to wonder whether I had played the wise part, when like Cassandra, I had prophesied him evil. Dr. Luther’s correspondence grew to that of a bishop. Many a day when I came to solicit a stroll by the icy river he must needs put me off to toil on his letters with Spalatin, the Elector’s high-minded confessor and spiritual counsellor, and fifty other learned men; or to write retorts pungent and pithy to the abusive counter-theses which Tetzel and his Dominicans had hasted to fling against him. “The more they rage, the more I go forward,” he had asserted merrily, when friends spoke still of danger; and he challenged anybody charging him with heresy, and who wished “to chew iron and blow up rocks,” to come to Wittenberg and argue it out,--a good table and a quiet lodging would be provided. So the storm beat, and I presently brought to Dr. Luther an Italian letter to the effect that the news of his utterance had spread even to Rome, where His Holiness, as yet unalarmed, looked on the whole matter as a mere squabble betwixt jealous monks. “Brother Martin,” said the Pope, “has a very fine head!” “And do you hold, Sir Graf,” asked the friar, “to your prophesies of evil now?”